"I didn't come to see the others," Winthrop answered.
Though many months had elapsed since their last meeting, no greeting passed between them beyond this; they did not even shake hands. She had seen upon entering that angry feelings had possession of him, that this time he would not go through any of the forms. This made her only the more anxious to keep to them strictly herself.
"I hope you have come to stay with us a while," she said.
He paid no attention to this. "Shall we go out—to the garden, or somewhere? I wish to see you alone."
"We couldn't well be more alone than this, could we?" she answered, looking about the room.
"But they may interrupt us. If they do, I shall ask you very soon to come out, and you must come." He crossed the room and closed the door. "You got my letter?"
"I was answering it when you came."
"I didn't want a written answer. It came over me, after I had sent mine, that I knew just what you would write in reply—the very words. Not that you have written so often; in two years and a half I think three notes of six lines each would about sum it up. But I know every written phrase of yours just the same; so I have come to get an answer in person—a more sensible and reasonable one."
She did not say, "There will be nothing more reasonable." It was what was in her thoughts; but it seemed wiser not to express her thoughts now.
"How changed you are!" he said; "even in eighteen months so much changed."